Chapter 20 #2
We stepped out together onto the ice, our blades cutting softly into the freshly resurfaced ice.
The sound was sharper than I remembered—a clean slice with every push, echoing faintly in the empty rink.
The cold hit differently out here, rising up through the ice and settling into my ankles and calves.
The rink stretched wide and empty around us, the boards bright, the glass catching reflections of the overhead lights. There was no crowd and no noise, only the quiet scrape of blades and the soft hum of the building itself.
“So how many other girls have gotten a private ice rink date with Dani Callahan?” I wondered aloud.
“The league is only three years old,” she said noncommittally.
“I’m serious.”
She glanced over at me. “No one.”
I studied her face, looking for a hint of a joke, but didn’t find one.
“This place matters to me,” she added after a moment. “It’s sacred.”
“Your cathedral,” I said, smiling.
A crooked smile tugged at her mouth. “Yeah. I like that.”
The quiet stretched between us, comfortable in a way that felt new and familiar all at once. The rhythm of skating came back slower than I expected—my balance was a little off, my strides were uneven—but Dani stayed close, her presence steady at my side.
“Bend your knees a little more,” she coached, skating backwards in front of me. “You’re too upright.”
“I’m trying not to die,” I shot back.
She laughed and reached out, her hands briefly settling at my hips to guide me lower. “Like this.”
The adjustment shifted my center of gravity, and my next stride was smoother and less tentative.
“Oh,” I said, surprised.
“Yeah,” she said. “Trust the edges.”
She pushed off, gliding backwards with ease.
Her skates carved clean arcs into the ice.
At the corner, she pivoted into a series of crisp crossovers, her body leaning into the curve with a precision that made me stare.
It was the first time I’d really seen her move like this–without a crowd, without a game—just raw skill, stripped down to its simplest form.
“You’re showing off,” I called out.
“Little bit,” she admitted.
She looped back to me, barely breaking her stride.
We moved in an easy loop together, the conversation filling the space between pushes and glides, the past slipping into the present without resistance. When we finally stepped off the ice, I noticed it immediately.
A small table and two folding chairs had been set up near the boards. Steam curled up from two cups of hot chocolate.
I turned to look at her. “You planned this?”
She shrugged, just slightly. “I figured we might need a warm up.”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as she pulled out one of the chairs like the fanciest of restaurants. “This is unbelievable.”
“Is it?” she said.
“It’s better than most dates I’ve been on.”
My honestly earned me a grin.
I sat, wrapping my hands around the cup of hot chocolate, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as Dani took the seat across from me. The rink stretched out behind her: empty, gleaming, and ours.
“I finally started the Charlotte piece,” I said after a moment.
Dani’s expression shifted. It was a subtle transformation, but I could see her eyes narrow with focus. “Oh, yeah?”
“Once I saw that announcement from USA Hockey, I couldn’t not. It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” I admitted. “It’s not just about her anymore.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping briefly to her cup.
“You guys still don’t have a policy,” I pressed.
Her mouth tightened. “There’s something in the works.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
“It’s complicated, Reese.”
“Is it?” I leaned forward. “Because from where I’m sitting, it seems pretty simple. Kids just want to play. They want to have fun. They want to be on a team and be with their friends. That’s it.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine.
“You didn’t start playing hockey because you thought you’d end up here,” I noted. “You weren’t thinking about endorsements or Olympic medals. It was never about the illusion of fame or money,” I said more firmly. “So why should it be for them?”
Dani didn’t answer right away. Her jaw worked slightly, like she was turning something over in her head, something she hadn’t quite let herself look at before.
Finally, she exhaled. “You’re right.”
I watched her, wondering how far she’d go with that thought if I let her. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned back slightly, creating just enough distance to shift the moment—like she’d gone as far as she was willing to go down that road.
“You shouldn’t have worried about those girls the other night,” she said, her voice disarmingly casual. “I’m not like that.”
I frowned slightly. “Like what?”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly before she exhaled.
“I’m demi.”
“Demi?” I echoed.
“Yeah—like, I can’t sleep with someone until I connect with them on an emotional level first,” she said. “I figured it out pretty quickly after I made my first Olympic team and random girls were showing up at my hotel room.”
“Poor you,” I scoffed.
The words felt wrong the moment they left my mouth.
“God damn it, Reese,” she scowled. “I’m trying to be vulnerable and honest and transparent and all that shit.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.”
She looked at me for a long moment, her expression tight, and I forced myself not to look away.
“I just—” I started and stopped, trying to find the right words. “I think I’ve been assuming things about you since I’ve been back. About … about what this is,” I floundered. “You’re a professional athlete. You’re supposed to be a player. That’s the narrative, at least.”
Dani let out a short breath that might have been a laugh. “Yeah. Turns out I’m kind of bad at that. I tried,” she admitted, “back in the day. But it just didn’t work. It feels off, like I’m missing something everyone else seems to get.”
I wet my lower lip, touched by her vulnerability. “You’re not missing anything.”
Her gaze lifted to mine.
“You just need more,” I said, my voice lilting up.
“I used to think it was just you,” she said. “Like I couldn’t move on because of you. Turns out, it’s just how I’m wired.”
I swallowed thickly. “I’m okay with that.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, searching, like she was trying to decide if I really meant it. “You are?”
“I am,” I emphasized.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Is it dumb that I feel like we never broke up?” Her cheeks colored, but not from the chill of the rink. “Like we were on hiatus, and now we’re back?”
“No,” I said, my voice softer now. “Not stupid at all.”